


no one cooks alone

by chronikle



Category: Kaizoku Sentai Gokaiger
Genre: Bonding, Cooking, Crew as Family, Gen, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-19 10:30:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10638021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chronikle/pseuds/chronikle
Summary: Joe isn't a cook. Don is.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Assume background OT6 unless that's not your preference (in which case, this is completely gen). Written for the "food and cooking" prompt on my trope_bingo card from round five that I didn't write anything for... until now!

Joe isn't a cook, not really. He can bake, that's for certain: extravagant cakes that Marvelous demands no less than once a month; tiny pastries Ahim takes with her tea; fluffy, crusted bread that Luka covets more than any sweet in the galaxy. But he can't cook, not in the way that satisfies any of them, not in the way that Don can.

He'd blame it on his military training, if Joe felt any need to assign blame. He can survive off the most staple of rations, the most basic of ingredients; he has no need to prepare any of them in a way that makes them tastier to consume, all he wants is the nutrition his body needs. It's good for him, but it's not enough for Luka, who finds it too like the scraps she had to steal to survive, nor for their captain, who eats more--needs more--than the rest of them do.

It was a miracle that Don came along when he did. Joe doesn't know how much longer they would have survived on takeout alone, nor how Ahim would have dealt with that.

(With pride and perseverance, like she copes with the rest of their habits.)

Don is a cook, in the ways that Joe isn’t. He cares about his audience, about how they’ll react to his food, about the flavours they like and how best he can draw that out of the food. He treats cooking like Joe treats baking: something that results in the happiness of others, an effort rewarded by the reactions of those enjoying it. Yet Joe’s baking—for all that it’s loved and appreciated by his crewmates—is superfluous, something to be enjoyed occasionally; Don’s cooking is a daily experience, something he tirelessly puts his all into without much recognition.

Joe knows it’s one of Don’s attempts to make himself invaluable to the crew, as if he wasn’t already invaluable by sheer designation as crew, by being handpicked by Marvelous himself. His devotion to flavour is second habit by now, but it’s held on from those very first few days on board the Galleon, desperate and eager to make himself useful to them. It’s why Joe does what he can to help, handing Don the equipment and ingredients he needs, navigating the kitchen for him when their Doc is too busy working on seasoning a dish to find the spices he requires.

It’s not necessary, he knows, nor does he think Don’s incapable, as the other pirate had fretted one night to him; Joe does it because he likes to be helpful, because it’s his own way of saying thank you for the task Don does for them, and because he likes that their kitchen is their shared space, free from their more rambunctious crew.

At least, it had been. Things are different with Gai around.

Their kitchen is too small for three of them to manoeuvre around one another easily, but Gai, despite his uncoordinated energy, excels at fitting himself into impossible spaces, dancing between the two of them in a way Joe didn’t think was possible. He’s flitting around Don, rummaging through cupboards and reappearing perplexed and empty-handed. 

Joe watches them both from the doorway, leaning against the frame, wondering what it is Gai’s looking for and how long it’ll take for one of them to notice him.

It doesn’t take long; Gai spins on his heel to check another cupboard, glances at the doorway, and starts when he notices Joe.

“Joe-san!” He all but shouts, causing Don to turn around. “Do you know where the other saucepan is?”

No wonder Gai was having such difficulty: it’s not often that they need three pans. Joe steps towards a high cupboard, one Gai wouldn’t have reached on his own anyway, and passes it down to him.

“Ah, thank you! This is great, we can make the sauce now!” Gai replies, with more excitement than that statement needs.

Don tenses at the mention of the sauce.

“Can I help?” Joe asks.

“Sure!” Gai responds, bouncing on the balls of his feet—and then stopping abruptly, glancing desperately at Don. “I mean—”

Don hesitates, and then relaxes, just a fraction.

“It’s your birthday,” he says. “You shouldn’t have to help cook your own meal.”

It is his birthday. To Joe, it isn’t much different to any other day of the year; he celebrates it primarily because the rest of the crew seem to want to celebrate it. He contemplates for a moment in letting Don have his way, in leaving him to only Gai’s assistance, before deciding otherwise.

It’s not just Joe’s meal, after all.

“I’d like to,” Joe says, after a heartbeat of consideration.

Don bites his lip and Joe thinks he’s going to fight him on it for a brief second, before Don’s shoulders lose most of their tension and he nods. 

“You’re not doing the dishes,” he warns. “Not on your birthday.”

He catches Joe’s eye; Joe smiles and nods.

“Of course not,” Joe replies. “It’s Marvelous’ turn.”

There’s a brief second of silence in which his comment sinks in, and then Don laughs, accompanied by Gai’s flurry of giggles. Joe takes the opportunity to prise the whisk from Don’s hand and steal the bowl he’s been using, freeing Don for other tasks.

He may not be a good cook, but he can mix things together, that’s for certain.


End file.
